


B&E – One Page Chapters

by BlueBastard



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Death, F/M, Freeform, Mild Sexual Content, No Plot/Plotless, Reader-Insert, Sexual Humor, Unappropriate Silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-08 12:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBastard/pseuds/BlueBastard
Summary: A self-indulgent, saw-like Resident Evil 7 AU/Expansion DLC story in which a group of 20-somethings find themselves in a cesspool of traps and puzzels. The only way out is forward. Horror ensues, accompanied by ill-timed flirting, self-depricating jokes and a lot of infighting.Warnings: Canon-typical violence, obviously. Crude humor, DEATH, general silliness, all that good stuff! Reader-Insert because it's fun and I might add a “””””romantic””””” sub-plot later (cough)Lucas(cough). This is a text dump. I have so many ideas floating in my head and they need a way out. If you're expecting much in the way of plot, this is probably not for you. I just wanna have a good time. CHAPTERS WILL BE ONE PAGE LONG UNLESS IT IS INAPPROPRIATE IN THE STORY.





	1. B&E - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoah hey prepare for infrequent updates and me induldging in writing torture, ok here we go.

“This is fucking nuts,” you said, stomping out the smoking remains of your cigarette. An old mansion stood looming on the horizon, abandoned and decaying: the woodwork was rotting, the bricks crumbling and the windows were smashed to bits. You pulled up your hood, stealing a glance at the building behind the fence. It'd be a miracle if there was anything worth selling still in there. How Jonathan ever found out about it was beyond you. Breaking in would be a piece of cake. Aside from the lock around the main gate, not many security measures seemed to be in place. The question now was whether or not it was worth it. As you slid on your worn work gloves, you shot your companions a wary look. “Are you sure there's a score to be had here? I mean, look at the place, I'd be surprised if it hasn't been robbed bare yet.”

“The Bakers were LOADED, (Y/n). That house you see over there,” Jonathan said, pointing at the structure behind you, “...is only ONE of their properties. I bet if we comb out this bayou we'll find some real valuable stuff.” Your friend grabbed his bolt cutters from the back and knocked the dirt off his boots with them before stuffing them into a dark grey backpack, along with some first aid supplies and a rusty old hunting knife.

“We just better hope it's worth risking jail time for,” Emily, your other partner-in-crime, chimed in. Slamming the sliding door behind her, she hopped from the mini van and pulled on her gloves. “I swear, one more big score and I'm moving somewhere sunny where I can get a real job! I'm done breaking and entering just to earn some cash for a sandwich. Fuck!” She cursed, hastily tying her blonde locks into a bun atop her head.

“I hear you,” you added with a sigh. “At least the chances of a cop showing up here are almost non-existent. So, _Sherlock_ ,” you turned to Jonathan, who was in the middle of checking the supplies one more time to make sure everything was in order, “...how do we get in?”

The young man grinned, nodding his head to the left of the main gate. “There's a path going down there. I checked earlier, before dark, and it leads to another house.” As he spoke, Jonathan handed out the bags: you checked yours for your lockpicks out of habit, releasing a relieved sigh when your fingers brushed over them. “My guess is, if we get into that house, we can segway right into the big place and snoop around for treasures on the way.”

“Sounds good to me,” Em said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and taking the lead down the overgrown forrest path. You watched her dancing flashlight disappear into the darkness and groaned. Murky woods, gross swamps, mosquitos and decrepit mansions. You had the distict feeling that this was going to be a long night.

Jonathan smiled and gave you a quick, supportive pat on the back before jogging after Emily. You were not feeling this job. At all. “Cheer up, (Y/n). We do this right, and we'll never have to beg for scraps again!” he yelled back, running forth with a peculiar bounce in his step.

You took a deep breath and stretched your neck, rolling your shoulders to really loosen up. One more job. One more break-in and then it was Bye-Bye Dulvey and Hello LA! You could already see the sunny beaches and waving palm trees. “Alright, let's do this shit.”

 


	2. B&E - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap, my dudes.

Jonathan was full of crap, it turned out. You'd gotten into house he mentioned and all you'd found was a gross, rank, moldy hellscape of a kitchen and a whole lotta nothing. After searching every nook and cranny of the abandoned home, the only thing of value you had discovered was an old, static-ridden TV in the living room. Emily was in the kitchen, profusely vomiting into the sink after laying eyes on a decaying bird in the microwave. The poor girl had a weak stomach. Your sympathetic gag reflex would not allow you to stay in the same room, so Jonathan stayed behind to comfort Em as you continued your search. Now you found yourself staring at the static on the screen, wondering if the VHS player that came with the TV still worked: and if it would fetch a nice price on the black market, of course.

Aside from the nifty, fuse-based mechanism for the stairs to the attic, the rest of the technology in this house was ancient. A VHS in 2016, really? You shook your head. These people probably hadn't even heard of Netflix. Poor bastards. _'Come to think of it,'_ you thought, _'how does this place still have electricity?'_ No one had been here for over 2 years, yet all the lights still worked (thank god for that, you were not searching this place in the middle of the night with only your flashlight to guide you) and the fuses you'd found were in surprisingly good shape. It was strange. You decided to let it go for now and head back and see if your friends had made any progress getting to the main house. All the doors to the outside were locked and bolted, but that didn't mean there wasn't a basement passage or something that connected to the other place. This house was old, and you seemed to remember that being a popular design choice a few decades ago.

Just as you approached the hallway, more lurching erupted from the kitchen, causing you to shiver. Emily still was done doing... _that_. You pushed the vivid mental image from your mind and made a U-turn, heading up to the first floor (which was bare aside from a few mannequins and a busted phone) then taking the stairs to the attic. This was the only place you hadn't checked. You wasted no time breezing through the rooms, searching in and around the crates that lined the hallway as you went. So far, nothing. It didn't make any sense. Being the seasoned thief you were, this wasn't your first time 'salvaging' things from an abandoned house. Even the most remote places still had valuables hidden around. This house was creepily empty in comparison. At this point you were desperate to find something shiny that would make this whole situation worth it, or at least a little less shitty. A silver candlestick, the fine China, a bottle of vintage wine, some creepy dude's taiwanese bootleg porn collection, ANYTHING! You'd even tried to smash the crates with a good strong kick, but no such luck. It was too damn dark up here to see properly anyway, so you decided to call it quits for now and get back to your partners.

When you headed back down to the mannequin room something strange happened; the phone you saw earlier started ringing, just as you walked by. One foot on the stairs and one planted firmly on the ground, you stood there, frozen. The little voice in your head told you to ignore it, but your gut pulled you towards the desk. It was such an innocent thing, a ringing phone. In context, it should not be doing anything. Which was why it frightened you. _'2 years,'_ you reminded yourself. Your hand hovered over the receiver, your mind going a million miles a second.

Was this a prank? _(Those bastards, it was probably that rich prick, Kevin!)_ Who else knew about this house and how did they get the number? _(Were the Bakers still in the phone book?)_ Did someone see you break in? Did they call the cops on you and were you finally going to be arrested and charged for the 67 break-ins you had commited? _(You were too pretty to go to jail!)_ Would a SWAT team storm the building if you didn't pick up? Should you pick up?

Before you had the chance to make up your mind, a heavy hand pressed into your back. As you yelped in surprise, the ringing abruptly stopped. Fearing for your life, you flailed wildly at your attacker in an attempt to push them away. Sadly, due to your catatonic state, you failed miserably at doing just about anything and just sort of _slapped_ at the person weakly. The assailant's grip tightened around your shoulder. They moved closer and locked their arms around your waist. You were forcefully turned to see...

“Jonathan you absOLuTE ASS!” you yelled, smacking your friend in the shoulder with a flat palm. He snickered, clearly pleased with himself. You took a second to catch your breath and calm down, then slapped him in the gut. Jonathan recoiled and laughed.

“Em's done redecorating the kitchen with her Mac and Cheese dinner. Oh, and we found a door that leads to the basement, so I came to get you,” he said, tugging at your shirt sleeve to prompt you to follow him. You did.

As you descended, Jonathan gave you an apologetic look. You knew what just happened was just a joke, but you could tell he felt just a teeny bit guilty for sneaking up on you like that. It was alright. You could take a few scares. You smiled, letting him know you were good and playfully shoved him in the shoulder. He seemed relieved. 

“Em, I found her! You done puking yet so we can go down there?” Jonathan asked, rounding the corner and stopping by an open door. You looked inside, making a face at the ominously dark staircase that greeted you. “Em?” he called again, directing his voice towards the basement. No response. “Where the hell is she?”

 


	3. Basement Exploration! (I'm Not Scared, You're Scared!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha hey yo what do you think of our cast so far? You enjoying the show? Leave a comment, my dudes. :D I have literlally no idea what I'm doing. 
> 
> Also I did not proof-read as well as I should have, forgive me. Feel free to point out errors.

“Emily!” you hissed, not wanting to yell out her name carelessly. Your feet tapped against the wooden steps as you tentatively made your way down, heart racing in your chest. Jonathan was behind you, his right hand firmly locked into your own. He squeezed your palm every time you took a step forward and the stairs creaked under your weight, clearly feeling just as unnerved as you were. “Em, are you down here?” you whispered, stopping at the bottom of the stairs.

Your flashlight traced the room, looking for any sign of your lost friend. There were some boxes covered with tarp and other junk, a couch and a desk light, but no Emily. Just a gross, moist storage room. You were about to call out to her again when something to your right caught your eye: there, in the doorway to another area, you saw a shimmer. Your eyes widened as you recognized it. Jonathan beat you to it. He went over and crouched down by the door, hands shaking as he reached for the object.

“Em's mermaid,” he said, holding up a teal blue keychain that you knew should be attached to Emily's backpack. Jonathan stood, handing it over to you and pointing at the busted chain links at the end. He didn't say anything; he didn't have to. The keychain must have gotten caught on something and ripped, you reasoned. “She definitely went down here,” Jonathan said, nervously casting his eyes into the next room. It looked just as uninviting as the rest of the house and neither of you made a move to go forward.

“If we had our phones we could just call her,” you said, unable to hide the bitter undertone in your voice.

Your friend groaned with oversaturated (and highly animated) agony: you'd been over this a million times before and he was getting tired of explaining. “No cellphones on a job, (Y/n)! We all have smartphones with GPS, which means the police can find out exactly where we've been. Which means--”

“--no alibi,” you finsihed in unison. You sighed, defeated. He was right. Now was not the time for this discussion anyway --not while Emily was still missing. Jonathan ran a hand through his short, dark hair and shifted from one foot onto another. After a moment of silent consideration, he spoke. “Look, everything out this way is _Terra Incognita_ , we don't know what we're gonna find or if Emily's even down here. I suggest we split up, you go back upst--!”

“I'd sooner shove a stick blender up my ass than split up. We go together and if you don't agree to that, you can fuck off,” you said, stealing a glance at Jonathan's face who looked amused at your choice of words, but said nothing. You always got so defensive when you were scared. “No objections? Good.”

“Alright, _Miss Tough-as-Balls_ ,” Jonathan said, turning towards you with a stupid-looking grin on his face, “...into the jaws of death we go!” He opened the door in the back of the room, revealing a long, musty hallway. You gulped at the darkness before you and took a cautious step back. “Ladies first!” he urged. When you didn't move, Jonathan took the lead instead and shuffled into the corridor. You were nailed to the floor of the storage room. He turned back to you and offered his hand, a reassuring smile on his face. Jonathan had your back, always.  “Come on, let's find Em and get the fuck outta here, hm?”

You released a shaky breath and accepted his hand, instantly feeling a little bit more confident. “Y-Yeah. Let's go.” Of course, things never work out the way you want them to, do they? About 5 steps into the hallway, your flashlight stuttered. You let go of Jonathan to whack it against the wall in frustration. “Damnit!” you cursed, slapping the head onto your open palm, hoping to knock some life back into the batteries. It didn't help much.

“Here it's fine,” Jonathan said. “We'll use mine.” But as he turned it on, both lights flashed with violent sparks and lost power almost simultaniously. The door to the storage room behind you slammed shut. You screamed, surprised by the sudden noise and started grabbing for your friend --but he wasn't there.

“Jonathan!” You reached out your arms as far you could, groping the walls in the dark. “Where are you?”

“Here!” you heard, “I'm here, don't move I'm on my wa---” A painful grunt cut him off: his grunt, the be exact. You heard a heavy thud across from you, and footsteps moving your way. Someone was here --and they'd hurt Jonathan. You held your breath and made yourself small, allowing your back to slide down the wall until you were hunched over. If you couldn't see them, they couldn't see you, right?

You were incorrect. Almost as if this person could hear the loud thumping of your heart, they reached out into the void and grabbed your upper arm. They whistled with enthousiasm as you squirmed against their grip, laughing at your meager attempt to get away. “Well, well, well, looks like we'll be havin' one more guest for dinner tonite! Lights out, little mouse!”

**WHACK!**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the family is coming up next. Are you ready? You still haven't found Emily...I wonder what happened to her?


	4. Bed and Breakfast – Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost midnight, I'm tired. Here have a chapter, I'll correct the stuff tomorrow after work. :D

Pain hammered away at the back of your skull, forcing you awake. Your stomach hurled in protest at the abrupt motion your head made, making you feel sick. You rose from your uneasy sleep, half-expecting to find yourself on your bottle-riddled apartment floor --or clinging to your best drinking buddy; the toilet bowl. Instead, you sat upright in a chair. _'Strange,'_ you thought, blinking to adjust your eyes to the early morning sun. Your vision cleared, slowly bringing the table in front of you into view. It looked like someone had set the table for breakfast, but you did not recognize whose house you were at, nor did you remember how you got here. You winced at the throbbing pain on the back of your head. Damn. Had you banged your clumsy head onto something last night? Whatever it was, you must have been hit pretty bad, because it hurt like a motherfucker.

Wherever you were, this place was filthy, and smelled of mold and --blood? Then it hit you; you remembered. Unfortunately, this was not the mother of all hangovers. No, no, no. This was much, _much worse_. The horror of last night's events lit a fire of panic in your gut. You tried to stand up, but found yourself unable to move due to the leathery restraints strapping you in place. "What in the--?"

"(Y/n), oh thank God, you're awake!" Jonathan was beside you, similarly trapped on a chair of his own. He had been bleeding, you noted, by the red streak running down the side of his face. The blood was fresh. He was hurt. You tensed up at the sight, instantly becoming dizzy.

An irrational sort of anger settled into your stomach. It was a mix of fear, rage and confusion all at once. Some dickbag, some—some! SHIT STAIN of a human being had knocked you out and brought you here. Why? What was the point? “J-Jonathan?” you let out, silently asking for an explanation --one you knew he could not provide. You cursed your voice for cracking; it betrayed your emotional state.

“Settle down, (Y/n). You need to breathe,” Jonathan reminded you, giving the leg of your chair a short kick to get your attention. “I know this looks bad, but we can get out of here--”

“Eat an entire dumpster of dicks, Jonathan. I don't need your motherly advice right now.” Your eyes snapped up at him, livid with all kinds of emotions. God, he was so naive. You were at the mercy of whoever strapped you into these chairs. That was the plain, simple truth. Escaping? How exactly? Your bags were gone, your tools were gone, _Emily was gone!_ There was no escape.

For a moment, Jonathan looked almost offended, but this soon passed as he realized this was just your way of being scared. If 5 years of being your friend had taught him anything, it was that you sometimes just needed a new perspective to help you out. He sighed, choosing his next words carefully. “Getting worked up won't get us anywhere,” your friend stated, raising a questioning brow when you did not instantly respond with more insults.

It _had_ crossed your mind to call him a _cum-guzzling rope sucker_ , but you didn't. Part of you wanted to tell him to fuck off and let you be angry --let you _feel_ this-- but you knew that would not help the situation. Whoever this asshole was, he was hellbent on making you pay for breaking in here, and you would need a clear mind to be able to deal with that. You sighed and nodded. Jonathan --always and forever looking out for you. You did as he said, and tried to calm yourself. Deep breaths, you reminded yourself.

**DEEP BREATHS.**

The double doors to your left suddenly swung open, and with seemingly practiced flair, a young man in a dark hoodie waltzed into the room.

His eyes, though partially hidden by the hood, beamed with mischief and he walked towards the table. He couldn't have been much older than you were, but he looked _tired_. Like lives-of-Redbull-and-injects-2-buckets-of-black-tar-herione-every-day-tired. And that aged him. The haunting tune he whistled sounded vaguely familiar, but you could not for the life of you remember where you'd hear it before. Your heart stopped when he hovered behind you. You couldn't look back. You knew he was there, you knew that _he knew_ you knew --if that made any sense. Jonathan shot the stranger a look, hands balling into fists on the armrest --almost seeming protective of you. The hooded man's prescence behind you shifted, moving back, if only just a few inches. He cackled, amused and unimpressed by Jonathan's mild act of bravery. As he plopped down on the chair next to you, two more people barged in, leaving you little time to inspect the man to your left in further detail.

A woman, manic and loud, instantly went into the half open kitchen in front of you and forcefully tore through the cupboards. She was arguing with the man that followed after her. The man, tall and imposing, sneered at the woman and hashly shoved her into the countertop. You winced at the impact, but the woman hardly seemed fazed by the assault. 

“I told ya t'get breakfast ready b'fore they woke up, ya stupid cunt!”

“I know! Damnit, Jack! That stupid little bitch we gave t'Lucas was whining for food! Our sweet little girl wouldn't let me starve the runt!” She turned around, dangerously waving a sharp steak knife at the man. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she was legitimately going to stab him. 

“Holy shit...” you heard Jonathan whisper. “That's them...” he said, “They're the Bakers.”

 

 

 


	5. Bed and Breakfast - Part 2: The Road Splits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily makes an appearance. Meanwhile, breakfast with the Bakers turns violent.

Emily awoke in darkness. She tried moving, but couldn't. Judging by the tight, sticky sensation around her wrists, they had been taped together. She cursed, but found that same tacky feeling across her mouth preventing the profanity from escaping aloud. Her legs couldn't move either, Em noticed as she attempted to stand. Carefully, she guided her bound hands towards her hips and further, trying to feel what was amiss down there. _'Fucking perfect,'_ the girl thought, growling at the discovered cause of her discomfort, _'...more duct tape. How fucking original...'_

**~*~**

You stared at the severed hand with horror (and no small amount of awe) on your face. If you weren't so caught up being amazed, you might have projectile vomited all over Jonathan's trousers. He, too, had a distict look of shock to him, so pure you thought this must have been a dream. The man in the hood just lost his hand, but now sat at the table, perfectly fine, laughing at your silent states of distress. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be real, you told yourself. Sadly, the spurts of blood erupting from the spasming appendage on the table were a grim reminder that you were without a doubt here, in the flesh.

After Jonathan dropped the bombshell that these people were, in fact, the family that had gone missing two years ago, the son (you presumed) had grabbed you arm violently, demaning you tell them how you'd found their estate and who else knew you were here. You had trouble forming a response as you fought the intense pain blazing from your wrist. His grip was like iron and you swore you heard something crack when he brought down his hand onto your forearm. The father found his son's hash treatment 'rude,' as he called it, and reached over the table with a knife in hand. Before you knew it, the fingers that had been clutching your sleeve lay motionless among the dinner plates and silverware. You focused on the dark stain on your arm, quivering at the sight of that much blood. It wasn't even yours, but you felt dizzy anyway. The man, Lucas, was unfazed and simply continued to argue with his father. You looked at the bleeding stump that was left at the end of his arm.

 _'Bullshit,'_ you thought.

They were trying to scare you, you reasoned. This was all just some elaborate parlor trick and this was your punishment for being a dirty thief and a scam! To your own surprise, you let out a sarcastic chuckle --amused by your paranoid thoughts. Jonathan kicked your chair, panicked, reminding you to shut up and not taunt the crazy people. But it was too late, the damage was done. The family stopped their squabbling and looked at you.

"Ya think we're funny, huh girl?" the dad, Jack, asked. He loomed over the table across from you, rising to his feet with an imposing air. You gulped. The knife was back, but this time you were at the pointy end and not the hooded asshole to your left.

"I-I uh I uh--! No of course not, I just --I-I!" you stuttered. Lucas laughed and imitated your feeble attempt at speaking. Your cheeks burned red. Was he making fun of you?!

“Don't disrespect me, little lady.” Jack rounded the table, slamming the tip of the knife into the wooden surface, spitting it open at a seam. The blade gleamed ominously in the light, weaving from left to right. You felt a trickle of cold sweat running down your spine as Jack ripped the leather straps of your chair open with his bare hands --his strenght was inhuman. He dragged you up, sparing no effort to be gentle with you. “Lucas, take these two t'the barn...Evie jus' wants one of 'em, make sure ya pick the best one. Weed out the weak.”

**~*~**

_'Why is it wet?'_ Emily wondered. While it was dark, the girl had figured out that she was in a box of some sort, not much bigger than herself. The walls were smooth and cold, but sturdy. Almost like glass. There wasn't a lot of room to move, but she had managed to kick off one of her shoes. That's how she found out her surroundings were...moist. Her toes dipped into a small puddle in the corner of the box. She frowned. _Gross_. For a moment she thought about you and Jonathan, wishing you'd done the smart thing and left the house while you could, maybe called the police. An unlikely thing, she knew, because you cared about her –you'd look for her, and get caught. That, and what cop was going to believe a group of no-good kids? She sighed, trying to swallow the stubborn sob she felt at the back of her throat. _'Please, let them be safe....'_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeyy I wrote this at 2am half asleep but it's here! whooooooooooo! The next chapter will feature...hmmm...pointy things. :D


	6. The Gauntlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha I lied no sharp things yet :D I decided to wait a little longer before I mutilate or otherwise damage our heroes! 
> 
> Changed the tags for this chapter because of some mildly sexual talk, but nothing too explicit.

Wincing at the impact with the concrete floor, you cursed at the bruises it had undoubtedly caused on your kneecaps. Jonathan was beside you, rolling onto his back in pain just as the grated door behind you shut, locking in place and trapping you in whatever fresh hell lay beyond. You blinked at the sudden darkness. They'd tossed you into this room like rats in a cage. These people were _insane_. Your legs tingled as you stood, still sore from your fall. Jonathan grabbed your pants leg to pull himself to his feet, unable to hold his balance on his own; you blamed the wound on the back of his head.

“You okay there, Johnny Boy?” you asked, offering your shoulder so he could lean on you. Your friend accepted your help, albeit with a sense of caution; he refused to be a burden over a whack to the head.

“I've had worse,” he said, puffing up his chest with mock-pride.

“Liar...” you whispered, earning yourself a laugh from Jonathan. The crackle of electricity and the low hum of fluorescent lights startled you as the room filled with an eerie blue glow, the walls lighting up with bright coloured spots and streaks --like an action painting. The words _'The Gauntlet_ ' had been hastily painted above the steel door in the far back of the room. You narrowed your eyes and curiously sniffed the air. “God, I hope this is paint and not--”

“Jizz,” Jonathan finished, visibly shuddering at the idea. Despite his horrified expression, he went on,“If it was, whoever painted this must have needed buckets of cum, I mean, damn! Do you know how long it takes to get a pint of sperm?”

 _'Oh boy. This feels like a conversation starter...a bad one.'_ You braced yourself. “No, I don't.”

“If you take into account that a man generally ejaculates half a teaspoon a wank and takes about 30 minutes to recover, we're looking at about 24 teaspoons a day, which is half a cup –and that's a full 24 hours of jerking it non-stop, not counting pee breaks or lunch--”

“That's fascinating, Jonathan. _WHY DO YOU KNOW THIS?_ I hope you know this implies that you've either tried filling a cup yourself, or that you've spent at least 15 minutes researching cum-science and doing the math. Frankly, both are disturbing ideas.” Jonathan shrugged innocently. You surpressed a smile and attempted to stay serious, but couldn't deny that his stupid jokes were making you feel better. If you were going to be stuck in literal hell, at least you had a friend with you. “Whatever,” you said, shaking your head. “What you're saying is: it's probably not jizz.”

“Yeah,” he chirped, smiling. “It's way too much cum for one person to produce, so unless they had a circle-jerk going on and somehow managed to collect it all in one--”

Before your extremely derailed conversation could go any further, the wall-mounted audio system roared to life with deranged laughter. An excited howl crackled through the speakers, followed by a voice you recognized only too well. “I'd hate t'interupt your little chit-chat, but ya'll ain't here for that.”

Lucas Baker. You almost growled audibly when you heard his voice, but bit your tongue. “Listen here, you--!”

“Ah-ah-ah!” he cut you off, effectively shushing you. Even despite your urge to release a new string of creative insults, you fell silent and listened when he started to explain your situation. “Now, 'cause you dipshits were dumb enough t'try an' break in here I don't think ya'll gonna last long, but humour me. Behind that door over there--” the steel door in the back opened, “--is a lil' somethin' I cooked up 'specially for you~! It's gon' be fun, you'll see! Ya'll gonna go through several rooms, each designed by yours truly, and if you make it to the end, you're free to go!”

You stared at the open space behind the door. The way you saw it, you had two choices. Sit here and starve, or take your chances with whatever he had waiting for you on the other side of that door. You bit you lip and clenched your fists. Whatever was coming, if you made it through in one piece, this guy promised freedom to whoever played his stupid game and won. You were _NOT_ going to die down here. Jonathan gave you a knowing look. You stood at the open door and stared at the writing above the door frame, Jonathan's hand resting on your shoulder. _The Gauntlet_. It sure sounded dramatic, but how bad could it be?

“C'mon now, don't be shy! Tell ya what, if you make it through the first room alive, I'll give ya a little present! Pretty please?” Lucas cooed over the speakers, urging you on.

“Hey...Lucas, right?” you called out, receiving an affirmative hum in response. “Bring it on.”

 


End file.
